A Lone Imported Peach
by thatenchantedplace
Summary: LBD Universe: A smile from Lizzie Bennet sets her free.
1. Chapter 1

A Lone Imported Peach

**Chapter One**

She is better at seeing the beginnings of things than her brother and looking back, Gigi can pinpoint Bing and Jane's wedding as _that _moment. In her mind, the click of her phone as she took the picture is sometimes audible and when she goes home for the holidays the sight of it, framed and silvered upon the mantelpiece, makes her smile.

To the average stranger it would seem unremarkable. A dancing couple focuses the shot; the man with his tousled dark hair and white shirt has his back to the camera so that the smile upon his partner's face, half hidden by his shoulder, is quietly evident.

Love can be seen as unremarkable.

Two years ago her brother would have barely lingered upon a similar photo in another house, but now it is remarkable to him because he put that smile there. To Gigi, the photo is a sign. She is not immune to symbol, she understands that a smile can be more than love, that it can also be security, can be freedom.

A smile from Lizzie Bennet frees her.

Until she saw it she did not know that she wanted to leave. The thought had never occurred to her before; they had always been too busy clinging to each other to survive first the tragedy of their parents, then Wickham. (It pleases her that she can think of his name without feeling.) They had formed a sibling lifeboat, Gigi and William, had survived by staying together. Most would point at him as her protector, but the truth was that she in equal measure had watched over him. It was she who had brought him coffee during late nights at the end of the quarter, she who urged him to rest and lighten up and she who forced him into rooms with Elizabeth Bennet.

He would always be her big brother; they would always be close. But instinctively she knew that she no longer had to drag herself out of bed on Saturday mornings to make pancakes, knew not to worry about William burying himself in work. He had a reason to go home now. Gigi understood that through some subtle shifting of roles, Lizzie had acquired much of her responsibility and this relieved her.

"Ugh, those two are so in love it's gross." Lydia appeared beside her, her eyes skimming the lilies, the marquee, the dancing figures. It seemed fitting that Jane and Bing would have a summer wedding; to Gigi both were permanently touched by sunshine.

"The bride and groom?"

"Them too." Lydia grinned, downing some champagne – a sure sign, Gigi knew, that things were getting better. "So when's Darce going to ask Lizzie to move in with him?"

"Do you think she'd day yes?"

"Aren't they practically married anyways?" It was true. Lizzie's presence had been creeping in the old Darcy house; tea bags by William's coffee beans in the kitchen, mainstream Colin Firth movies rubbing cases with artsy indie flicks in the home theatre. She had even acquired a desk in the study where Gigi would often catch her buried in work or Tolstoy.

They had become friends, Lydia and Gigi, bonding over a shared horror.

"I got an interview for that TV show," the redhead confided through mouthfuls of wedding cake.

"Lydia that's great!" In time she would fall into the habit of watching Lydia's cable segment. She would admire from afar the way her friend, her brother's eventual sister in law climbed up from five minutes of entertainment news, to covering the Oscar red carpet, to co-hosting daytime. But that was later. Years down the line. Currently all she heard was her own voice and despite herself she was unable to prevent a wistful note edging into it. "Television. Wow, that is really...cool." Her eyes were still watching Lizzie and William. She absently noted that his dancing has improved beyond recognition. "Sorry what was that?"

"Do you want me to look into some jobs?" Lydia repeated. "I'm sure they have a San Francisco affiliate."

It transpired that they did not. There was however a New York studio. One with a convenient opening for a graphic designer.

It is only after they offer her a job that Gigi wonders how she is going to tell William.


	2. Chapter 2

She turns to Lizzie first. It is rare, Gigi knows, for a dream to become reality. Because of this, she appreciates how wonderful it is to have Lizzie as a quasi-sister, on hand with advice and sympathy, introducing the alien concept of "girl talk" into her life.

"I got a job." She blurts it out over lunch at a favourite spot of theirs by the marina.

"A job job or a weekend column in the paper?"

"A job job."

"Gigi that's great!"

"It is?"

"Well I don't know how thrilled the Pemberley folks will be but I think it's great that you want to experience other things. Silicon Valley isn't in your home state for nothing."

"Oh."

Lizzie glanced up, frowning.

"Oh? What's oh?"

"It's not...the job...it's not really at a company. Not like a Pemberley company."

"Ok. Well, your brother is a one of a kind guy. I'm sure he'll be happy wherever you – wait." Lizzie sat up, her face paling. "Wait."

"What?"

"Please tell me you aren't going to work for Facebook."

"What? No! I would never – it's not a digital media company Lizzie."

"Great," Lizzie said, relaxing. "Good. I mean, I know Will plays golf with Zuckerberg occasionally but-"

"It's a job on the production team of a cable news show."

"That sounds-"

"In New York."

There was a beat of silence during which Gigi plucked up the courage to meet Lizzie's eyes.

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"Well, at least it's not Facebook."

"Lizzie!"

In the end, she tells him herself. It doesn't seem fair to have Lizzie break it to him over dinner. The shattering of their family unit had to be done by her and her alone.

At first he doesn't react.

"William?"

"Cable news. That's... unexpected."

"Are you mad?"

"That my little sister got a job on her own merits? Gigi, of course not."

"But I'm leaving."

"Yes. Yes, you are." He looked down at his fingers then back up at her, his eyes significantly brighter. "Things are changing around here."

"Yeah. Look, I'm not-"

"It's a great opportunity."

"It is?"

"Hmm. Well. At least it's not Google."

She snorts in reply.

"Gigi. Let's be honest, I've been lucky you stayed for as long as you did."

"What?" She came forward, leaning beside him against his desk. He took her hand.

"Come on. If our parents...if they were still her,e you would have been gone at eighteen. We would certainly not have been this close. I think it's time."

"I'm coming back for every holiday."

"I should think so. At least the New York house won't be empty half the year." Gigi hesitated.

"Gigi?"

"I was...thinking about an apartment."

"I don't think it makes sense to have two Manhattan properties-"

"What about Brooklyn?"

"Isn't the studio in the city?"

"Well yeah but-"

"But all the cool kids live in Williamsburg and you don't mind the commute."

"I could always use the townhouse on a late night." For a long while they sat in companionable silence.

"You're a really good brother."

"I know." She smiled, whacked his arm.

"Hey William?"

"Mm?"

"Can you ask Lizzie to move in with you?"

"Way ahead of you little sister."

She consolidates her life into a few suitcases, rents an apartment over the phone. This then, is adulthood.

She has never been good with goodbyes, bestowing only fleeting hugs on Fitz and Brandon.

Lizzie pulls her in for a second embrace before she leaves. She refuses to come to the airport, saying only that it should be the two of them. Sometimes Gigi wonders if Lizzie knows how big a part of their lives she has become.

"Look after him for me."

"Of course. You call as soon as you land."

The drive to the airport is long and silent. They like silence. It is why she is grateful for Lizzie; they had forgotten that noise, that disorder could be pleasant.

When he hugs her she almost wants to change her mind, drive back home, forget the allure of another city. But something in his eyes, the way he lightly ruffles her hair gives her the courage to walk away.

She knows then, that things will never quite be the same.


	3. Chapter 3

At first New York makes her feel like a child. As a brief stop on vacation it is no stranger to her. But spending summers at the Hamptons or a weekend on the Upper East Side is a completely different experience to living there.

It is overwhelming in its bustle and confusion and even though it is, on a map, the most ordered city in the world, she still manages to get lost. Her apartment is nice but a mouse haunts the kitchen and on the subway she shrinks from characters who are probably innocent but strike her as terrifying in their eccentricity.

It is work that knocks the rich girl out of her. Her colleagues at best are zany, at worst egocentric, temperamental perfectionists. She grows to love them. She is better informed about the news now than at any prior point in her life. Willingly she adapts to having her life dictated by big stories. She learns to run on a few hours of sleep with caffeine in her veins, learns to adore the teamwork that is a required ingredient of the bullpen.

Most of her work is in a quiet booth near the production suite, but because of her age, she finds herself making friends with the staffers; young, bright researchers with liberal arts degrees, who are fuelled by a determination to report the news and report it well. Most of their entertainment comes from gossiping about the anchors and produces that lie caught in a convoluted web of romance. Because she is Gigi Darcy, she is not satisfied with simply observing across the studio floor. Instead she learns to conveniently vanish in order to leave two people alone together, learns to drop names into conversations and to observe body language. In her mind's eye she can picture William's raised eyebrows.

She calls as often as she can, although long hours and late nights make Skyping difficult. Often she blows off steam at a popular bar across the road with her closest friend amongst the staffers, a Japanese boy to whom the city is equally new. They trade stories of San Francisco and Tokyo. He is a diplomat's son, so she does not feel the mix of insecurity and defensiveness that generally precedes her surname.

To him she finds she can say anything.

Even peaches and sandy haired boys, when enough tequila has been consumed, can be spoken of. In turn she listens to stories of a nameless girl with dark orbs for eyes and her banker mother who took against him.

He cooks for her and is impressed with her dexterity with chopsticks at which she laughs and points out that she was a constant fixture on her dad's business trips abroad. On nights where sleep deprivation mingles with the surreal world of US politics they get drunk together, laugh hysterically together, buy shawarma on the way to the Darcy townhouse together, because neither one is in any fit state to take the subway back to Brooklyn.

She doesn't realise how often she mentions him until William points it out, over the phone, in a tone she recognises as having been cultivated to be casual.

"Oh, he's a...a friend."

"Okay." Even over the phone, she can hear his smirk.

Lizzie asks her if she's seeing anyone over prepping Christmas dinner. Their smirks, she notes, have become synonymous.

"What? No, I've been so busy with work and ...stuff." She changes the topic to presents. Lizzie gushes over the bracelet Gigi hands her but there is a look in her eyes as she glances at the Tiffany bag that causes Gigi to seek out her brother that night.

"I think it's time you brought out Mom's ring."

"What if she says no?" His voice is hoarse. She throws her arms about him in an impulsive hug.

"Who could possible say no to you William?"

"I missed you."

"So did I big brother. So did I."

"So you're leaving for the wedding next week?" They are working late at his apartment, the windows open against the heat of a restless summer.

"Oh yeah." She reaches for her phone. "Take out?"

"I might have something lying around." She rolls her eyes because they both know that he never leaves anything edible lying around.

She is about to hang up when she hears him.

"Found something." Phone still against her ear she turns, eyes falling to a velvety peach clasped in his long, slender fingers. There is a question in his eyes and heart hammering, cell falling away, to the table she thinks, she stretches out a hand and takes it from him. She only takes a bite; it is late and neither really wants to eat. Food, that is.

She is not immune to symbols. And she marvels, later, at how a symbol can be changed dependent upon circumstance, upon people.

The wedding is an intimate affair but the tabloids manage, to absolutely no one's surprise, to get hold of a couple of photographs. The one splashed on most page sixes is of the groom's younger sister, the heiress, in the arms of a new beau. It makes her smile.

Unbeknownst to Gigi Darcy, a sandy haired figure catches sight of the picture in someone else's paper. He is too far gone to acknowledge the twinge within him, that which most would call regret.

She does not care. He is long gone from her head, perhaps not dead but vanquished certainly; the hole he left filled by another far sweeter.

"_the taste of peach will subsist in quietness;  
the night, in silence, turn to morning."_

_Tim Smith Laing, Omiyage: a souvenir_


End file.
